


Under A Sky of Stars

by Christian_at_No



Series: Otherworld [2]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Royalty, M/M, OOC, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Character Death, Romance, Slow Burn, royal guard, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:34:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29060619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Christian_at_No/pseuds/Christian_at_No
Summary: The trees loomed over him, shadows having grown deeper with the creeping promise of sundown; a sight that worried at his instincts and begged avoidance. Stubborn determination kept his feet planted firmly in place. Eyes flickering, he took a deep breath.Appearances were often deceiving, he knew. Stories exaggerated for the sake of sensationalism.He closed his eyes on his exhale and allowed himself to feel.The air itself seemed to come alive, flickering tongues of flame that warmed his soul. It was comfortable and welcoming compared to the static of the lower city, and it almost felt like the embrace of an old friend. It invited him forward.Prequel to Otherworld. Time to fill in some plot holes.Next update March 21, 2021. Updates every other Sunday.Please remember to read author's notes for individual chapter warnings.
Relationships: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Kurosaki Ichigo
Series: Otherworld [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2123568
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is the prequel to my other GrimmIchi fic, Otherworld. You don't have to read that first to understand what's happening and, in hindsight, I probably should've waited to post Otherworld until this piece was done. Oops.
> 
> Well, we all make choices...
> 
> A lot of this is going to be further worldbuilding on a concept that I've been fleshing out for the better part of two years and exploring the character relationships hinted at in Otherworld. I'll be leaving terminology as needed per chapter for the fic in the Author's Notes in addition to any warnings for individual chapters, including but not limited to: possible triggers, gratuitous violence, excessive language, and sexually explicit content, so keep an eye out and always check the tags when I upload! I'll be adding them as we go.
> 
> Again, I have no beta, so if you see a big oopsie, let me know and I'll fix it when I can.
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy.  
> -Chris
> 
> Terms to know:
> 
> Fae: Those born with magic. Age exponentially slowly. Deceptively strong despite their lean builds. Main identifier is their pointed ears, but many also have animalistic features.  
> Highborne: Someone with fae and human parents. Have varying range of magical capabilities. Physically slow to age. Mentally mature rapidly. Very physically strong. Make up a majority of the military. Can live for several centuries. Some look more human than others while some take more after their fae parent.  
> Numbers: Represented by the numerals 1-23, each number is representative of one of the fae noble families. At this point in the timeline, there are only 14 families remaining.  
> Ræhyrr: A magical bond that can only be removed by severe magical means over an extended period of time. Similar to marriage, but a more sacred and permanent alternative. Also reference to the ritual used to form the bond and the mark left behind by said ritual.  
> The Academy: A militant force run by The Council.  
> The Head Council/The Council: though The Continent is officially under a monarchy, the Council is the main governing body, especially in the more urban areas of The Continent.  
> The Continent: The massive body of land that is governed by The Council.

“I don’t see why you have to go.”

The blue haired youth threw his head back in adolescent exasperation. He and his mother had had this argument multiple times over and, true to their shared stubborn nature, neither of them had budged in their stance.

“ _ Mother _ ...”

She threw her hands up in mock surrender, eyes going wide as if she were offended. It almost made him laugh; people as gruff as that woman were hardly ever offended. And on the few instances when she had been miffed enough to cause a scene, it was on someone else’s behalf.

“ _ What? _ I’m worried,” she offered. “My son decides to go off to some military camp and I’m not allowed to worry?”

He rolled his eyes. “Mom, I’m seventeen. I’m of age, it’s fine—”

“For a  _ human _ , you’re of age,” she interrupted. “My boy, you are many things, but you are not human...”

She shook her head, eyes slipping closed. The action made the loose black strands that floated around her face sway and encouraged some more rebellious locks to slip from her mussed bun. She turned her gray eyes on him and he noted how hard they were.

“You’re my son,” she began, leaning against the door frame. “I am allowed to give you trouble and worry until all my hair falls out. It’s my right to do so, even...” she trailed off. “But you are so very much like me, so I worry even more, because I know the things I did when I was your age. I was so rebellious, you know.”

A smile twitched at the corner of her full lips and he thought he could see a dimple for a moment.

“Mom?”

She blinked rapidly. “You look just like your father, Grimm… He was all about fighting for the commonwealth and defending the crown. He used that as an outlet for his reckless energy.”

Her hand came up to worry at her neck, a habit she picked up after she lost her locket and could no longer fiddle with the worn silver. The teen looked at her and he thought he might understand, if only a little; it was almost like he was seeing her for the first time. He reached forward and stilled her hand with his own, the gentle touch startling her, and he pulled her close to embrace her.

“I’m a Tu Odelschwanck, mom,” he managed with a chuckle when her arms wound tightly around him. “I’ll be fine.”

She huffed and pulled away, resting a hand over his heart. “No, you’re not just a Tu Odelschwanck.”

He gave her a puzzled look. With a sigh, she motioned for him to follow. They crossed their two-room hovel, stopping to kneel before the crude shrine his mother had built for his father after he had passed. There was no portraiture, just a yellowed cloth over a low table holding a small vase of dried forget-me-nots, a low burning candle, and a small box. She grabbed the box with a shaking hand and slowly pulled the lid open to present the contents to him. There, swathed in black velvet, was a silver chain that she pinched between her calloused fingers. At the end of the metallic strand was a pendant that gleamed in the candle light: a gothic style number six.

"This was your father's, before he married me," she explained in a voice that held an intense sadness. "Do you know what it is, son?"

He was breathless at the sight of it. Anyone with ears knew of the numbers associated with the noble families, and how before the appearance of hollowfication was commonplace, there had been twenty three in total. Now, there were only fourteen, each with a member on the Head Council, the organization running The Academy.

He reached out for the necklace and she allowed him to take it. "...Dad was a noble? But I thought noble fae couldn't marry outside of the bloodlines," he said, the last bit almost spat like a curse.

She sighed. "You're right. They can't." A smile softened her face. "We eloped. I was a servant for the family, and so was my mother before me. He was the third son of the Sixth… He should have never even looked at me. And still—" she cut herself off with a shake of the head. "They disowned him when we were discovered." At his look of surprise, she elaborated, "It was easier to disown him than to attempt to separate the  _ ræhyrr _ ."

His gaze fell to her wrist, where he knew her bond mark, the  _ ræhyrr _ once was, now marred by an ugly scar that appeared in the wake of her lover's death. It was nine years ago, but he still remembered the swirling lines and glittering magic of it. He would trace over it when he was young, appreciative of his father's spell work.

"The Sixth? They were a militant family, right?" he asked, interest piqued.

His mother laughed, though it was subdued when compared to her usual, jaunty guffaw. 

"You are his boy. I tell you a wholesome tale and you latch on to the fact that you're of warrior blood!" She smiled good naturedly at his flush of embarrassment. "Yes, you're correct. A bunch of brutes, they were. Fun and violent and devilish in the best of ways. I see an awful lot of that in you," she declared with a cocked brow. “But, it’s in your blood, after all.”

She reached out to curl her hands around his own, closing his fingers around the pendant. The silver tingled against his skin;  _ magic _ , he realized, no doubt his father’s handiwork.

“You’re a  _ Jaegerjaques _ , Grimmjow...” she whispered with a reverence he seldom heard from her. “Be proud. I know Grimmshaw would,” she whispered, leaning forward to kiss his temple. “Keep that. He would want you to have it.”

His eyes went wide. “But I can’t. I’m not a fae. I’m just—”

“When has that ever stopped us?” she remarked, her eyes wet and painfully cunning. “You’re not just a highborne, Grimm. You’re the last of a fallen family. And you’re a  _ fighter _ ,” she hissed with conviction, her hands coming up to rest heavily on his shoulders. “I know that I can’t stop you, so…” she paused and heaved a sigh that shook her entire being, “...Do me a favor, son.”

She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes.

“What do you need me to do?” he asked, voice rough.

“You tell those bastards you’re a Jaegerjaques,” she growled. “And you show them exactly what they lost when they cast your father away from the family and left him to those Academy dogs.”

Her grip on his shoulders tightened for a moment before she let her hands drop.

“The Academy took the love of my life from me. I will never forgive them for that.”

He felt his brow furrow. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to lose you, too,” she muttered, eyes searching, ignoring the question. An unnamed pain danced across her face nonetheless. “You better promise me that you’ll come back to me someday, alive and in one piece, preferably.”

Jaw clenched, he gave a stiff nod, eyes tight when he threw his arms around her and she squeezed him back with purpose before pulling away with a sigh.

“You should head out before your sister wakes, else you will miss the ferry,” she informed with a sniff. “You know her tendency to cling like a monkey.”

He huffed out a laugh as he stood, offering a hand to help his mother up from the floor. Of course, she waved him away.

"I'm fine, boy, leave me be."

She didn't move to stand, eyes trained on the candle.

"I'll miss you terribly," she whispered. "But I know, somewhere deep down inside of me, beyond the maternal worry, that you're going to be just fine."

Their gazes met, each determined in their own right.

**_"Go and make us proud."_ **


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, you guys! Let's get started.
> 
> -Chris
> 
> CHAPTER CONTENT WARNINGS: Vague entions of past character death.

It had been dark with the last dregs of night when he had left the small village of Griswald to make the half-day trek to the closest port town, Aulder. The walk had been quiet, and the sky was finally free of the gray of early morning when he made it to the docks at the east bank of the Verridian River. The small port had been a rest stop for well over half a century and was now surrounded with small shops, pubs, and inns; Grimmjow wouldn’t have been surprised if there was a bordello hidden somewhere amidst the squat buildings.

The weathered planks of the pier were rotted out in some places and he was careful with his steps. There was a large man seated on a crate, gnawing on an empty pipe with some radical vengeance. Grimmjow recognized him as the ferryman from his youth, back when his father would come and go to and from the capital.

Until one day, he never came back at all.

He felt his jaw clench and his step falter.

_ “The Academy took the love of my life from me. I will never forgive them for that.” _

He shook his head, banished the thought and pressed on, stopping before the man.

“Hello,” he tried in greeting.

The nameless man looked up at him with a glare that might’ve split the sea and blinked. Chewed his pipe. Blinked again. Then, a wash of recognition came over him, his face splitting into a strangely charming grin that revealed a few missing teeth and changed his demeanor so fiercely that it threw the young man for a loop.

“Augh! I’d recognize that head o’ hair an’where, boy!” he chuckled goodnaturedly. “Yer Grimmshaw’s lad, ain’t ‘cha?”

The man’s accent was thicker than expected and unlike anything Grimm had ever heard.

Grimmjow blinked owlishly, shoulders going slack as they released some tension. He laughed softly out of reflex, at a loss.

“I am, though I’m surprised you remember me,” he affirmed with a nod. “The last I was here was near a decade ago.”

The ferryman’s eyes crinkled with mirth. “Boy, I may be up in my years, bu’ ol’ Corvinn ne’er fergets a face.” Then, his grin slipped into something a little more sombre. “I know it’s been years, bu’ I’m sorry fer what happened to yer da’,” Corvinn offered. “He was a friend o’ mine. Fer years, I took ‘im to and from. We would laugh and share tales… More than a few of ‘is were ‘bout you and that wee lass o’ ‘is. And befer you were born, it was tales o’ yer ma,” he recalled.

Grimm smiled sadly. “I’m sure those are fond memories.”

“Aye...” Corvinn trailed off, shook his head, gnawed his pipe. “What can I do fer ya, son?”

Grimm met his eyes, much kinder now than they had been before and produced a small pouch of copper pieces. Silver was hard to come by in these parts. “I need a ride to the capital. Can you help me?”

Corvinn looked to the sky, muttered something so low that even the boy couldn’t hear, sighed and met his gaze again. “Aye, tha’ I can do, bu’ keep yer coin. You’ll be needin’ it later.” He heaved himself up from the crate he had made his home for gods could only guess how long and motioned towards the boat tied down to the docks with ratty rope. “Make yerself at home while I fetch the month’s mail,” the ferryman offered, hobbling along the pier towards town.

Grimmjow nodded to himself absently, some raw emotion that he couldn’t name settling in his gut, and pocketed the small sachet.

The ferry was a small thing that was probably more akin to an oversized dingy, but he said nothing of the sort when he stepped aboard. The fastest way to travel across the continent was still via ferry, and even then, the trip to the Eastern Cliffs would take nearly a week's time.

That is, if the gods allowed. He grimaced at the unpleasant thought.

He paced the deck, getting used to the rocking as the small waves lapped at the sides of the old boat. Then, he paused. There, marked in stark contrast to the slight green hue of the wooden rail, were carvings in a familiar script.

It was a fae language from years past, back when such a thing was relevant, and while he wasn’t fluent in this particular dialect, he knew enough of the gently sloping lines to make out the protective ward. He ran his fingers over the wood and felt a familiar tingle that brought a smile to his face. Unconsciously, his fingers came up to run along the edge of the pendant that hung around his neck.

He closed his eyes, traced the runes, memorized the feel of the magic. It was weak after so long without being renewed, but the presence was there.

_ Maybe I could— _

A thud on the deck drew him back to reality, his gaze snapping toward the intruder. He relaxed instantly when he saw Corvinn, a small canvas sack at his feet.

“I see ya found yer da’s handiwork,” he observed with a fond chuckle. “It’s saved my life quite a few times.”

Grimm cast his eyes down to the mark. “It’s fading,” he informed. “It won’t be effective for much longer.”

Corvinn sighed and smiled. “That’s alright, son. Grimmshaw can’t protect me ferever, much as he liked to believe.”

The boy snorted, giving the carvings one last appraising look before he turned away. “Are you sure? I think I could preserve it, if you wanted.”

Bright green eyes turned to the blue haired youth. “I have no doubt, my boy, bu’ I’m sure.”

He kicked against the dock to set the ferry adrift down the river, rocking onto his heels from the force.

“The magic may fade, bu’ the carvin’ will stay, and so will the mem’ries we shared,” he whispered, looking up to the clouds, eyes fervently searching for some unseen wonder. “Nothin’ lasts ferever. Eventually, I’ll be long gone. My time will come.”

Shocked into silence, Grimmjow just watched as Corvinn hobbled his way to the wheel, humming a sad tune as he went. The man was kind, surprisingly nostalgic, and overwhelmingly perplexing.

**_He traced over his father’s work one last time._ **

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, please comment and leave a kudos! I love hearing from you.
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
> -Chris
> 
> If you want, you can go scream at me on Twitter: @Chris_Stop_It


End file.
